


Pride

by ottertrashpalace



Series: saved on my laptop as "spooderman" [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual!mj, Coming Out, Everyone is Queer, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Dad, MJ is bi-FURIOUS, OFC - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pride, Trans Male Character, brief homophobic language, protest rally, rpdr references, some brief political themes, sorry - Freeform, the babies have some fun with face paint, trans!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-11 14:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11716134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottertrashpalace/pseuds/ottertrashpalace
Summary: MJ considers it her honor and her duty to take Peter to his first pride parade after he comes out to her. Needless to say, this involves blue lipstick, famous drag queens, and incredibly attractive displays of spider-strength. She considers herself lucky.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I, while a queer and (hopefully) sensitive individual, am 100% cis. I wrote trans!Peter because I think that it's a great headcannon that fits perfectly into his character, and I did my best to research and all that. That said, if there is anything at all in this fic that shouldn't be, you get your ass straight down to the comments and let me know. I want to do this right.

“Is it pink and then purple? Or blue? I can never remember.”

MJ wiped her paint-covered fingers on her pants. “Google it. Fuck if I know.”

Peter gave her a look and waggled his similarly dirty fingers pointedly. “I mean, it’s your flag.”

“Alright, alright…” MJ slid into the bathroom on sock feet and rinsed her hands, emerging as she tapped a search into her phone. Depositing the phone on the bed, she nudged it towards Peter with her knee as she picked up the finger paints they’d bought at the corner store. 

Peter squinted at the pride flag on the screen. “Purple. Right. Shoot.”

“Pink and blue mixed together make purple,” MJ offered helpfully.

“Not when they’re _dry_.” He grumbled. “I’ll just paint over it, I guess.”

He swiped some purple onto his fingers and started to make a line on MJ’s cheek, covering up the his previous efforts with the blue. His eyes always got all cute and squinty when he concentrated, and his lips parted just the slightest bit. MJ had to fight the urge to kiss him. She wouldn’t want to mess the paint job he was working so hard on, after all, so she waited until he was done and swooped in for a quick peck on the lips.

“Oh!” she said, “that reminds me.”

She reached into her backpack and pulled out a makeup bag. Peter seemed understandably confused. She took out a half-melted tube of purple lipstick that she’d bought for her own first Pride, along with eyeshadow and false eyelashes.

“Sorry, who's gone and stolen my girlfriend’s body?” Peter deadpanned.

“It’s Pride, buddy. You’ve got to go all out.” She clicked her phone off and squinted into the black screen as she smeared on neon pink and blue eyeshadow. Peter was staring.

“D’you want some?” she waved the lipstick in his direction.

He eyed it warily. “Um.”

“Sorry, sorry, I… fuck. Just thought I’d ask.” MJ shoved the tube quickly back into her bag, but Peter stopped her.

“No no no, it’s not—that. Actually, I never really… minded makeup. Aside from the obvious, I guess. I kinda like those YouTube makeup tutorials. They’re, like, calming.”

MJ leaned in and almost gave him a kiss, but then pulled back at the last minute. “I wanna save the lipstick marks.” She explained. “Ooh!” She dumped out the makeup case and picked through it, choosing a different lipstick. “Blue?” 

Peter chewed his lip slightly and considered this. “I… alright. Yes. Let’s do this.”

“And I’m going to put two pink stripes on your cheeks. This is fucking perfect.” 

It was not a hardship to focus on his lips to put the makeup on. They were slight but perfect, and ridiculously soft.

“Now just rub your lips together like this—“

“Good?”

“Perfect.” 

She finished with two football player-style swatches of pink paint under his cheeks. Satisfied, she put her hands on her hips and leaned back. 

“I think we’re ready,” she announced.

“Uh, I was kinda thinking—“ Peter got up and reached into his closet. “I’m gonna bring the suit. Just in case.” He started to stuff it into his backpack, next to an umbrella and a can of sunscreen.

“Sure. Hey, have you ever thought about coming out, like, as Spider-man? So no one would know it was you but you’d just—“

“No, definitely not,” Peter cut her off hurriedly. “No one would take me serious, once they knew, and then Mr. Stark would find out, and… it would just be… No. Not good.”

“Alright,” she acknowledged, realized that it probably wasn’t a good idea to push the issue. She wasn’t sure she agreed, but it wasn’t her secret to tell.

“Pride?” She said eventually.

“Pride! Yeah.” 

She gave in to the impulse to kiss him on the cheek, leaving his cheeks red with a purple lip print on top.

 

They made their way west slowly on the bus, which was excruciating at first, but grew less and less so as, with every stop, more and more people with rainbow socks and face paint climbed on. By the time they were in the Midtown tunnel, the bus was practically packed with all manner of queer folks. Peter felt his anxiety slowly receding, replaced by a growing sense of excitement. A rather muscular woman with a studded leather vest gave MJ a once-over and winked, at which Peter yawned and ever so casually stretched his arm around the back of her seat. She snorted and swatted his side, looking just as incurably giddy as he was feeling. There was something about the little ace flag sticking out of the back of someone’s backpack in front of them, or even the silver flask that a group of buff twenty-somethings with colorful marti gras beads were passing around a few feet away. They all had something between them that he couldn’t totally explain, an energy or a vibe or _something_. It was amazing. The forty-five minute ride was almost worth it.

The bus stopped about three blocks from the parade, and Peter thought he’d never felt more at home in his own city (well, outside of Queens, maybe). There was a guy hawking buttons and flags right next to where the street was closed off, and they stopped to buy buttons with pronouns and one that said “bi-FURIOUS” for MJ.

Peter had to try not to stare at everyone they passed. Not only was there the unavoidable plethora of mostly naked gay guys, but there were some really incredible costume and makeup jobs. He was glad MJ had him put on the lipstick, because he’d feel underdressed. 

MJ took his hand and pulled him towards the crowd on 36th. Somehow, she managed to push them to the front by the street, where there were already some floats going by. The crowd was cheering as some skimpily dressed male cheerleaders did flips in front of the New York LGBTQ+ Pep Band float.

“Oh my fucking God!” MJ, barely audible over the crowd—squealed? He’d never thought he’d heard MJ _squeal_. “That’s Sasha Velour!” 

“The drag queen?” Peter yelled back. “I thought you liked… what’s her name… Valentina?”

MJ blinked too innocently and tapped her ear. “Who?” She mouthed.

A fog of smoke floated over them, leaving a strong weedy smell behind. Peter was no stranger to the smell of marijuana, but damn, this stuff was thick. He coughed.

“Oh. My God.” Came a piercing voice from behind them. Peter turned, immediately staring into an incredibly tall, perfectly hairless chest, which was also covered in glitter. The owner of the chest leaned down through the sweet haze and leveraged a sloppy kiss on Peter’s forehead. 

“You’res—oo beautiful!” They slurred. Peter squinted upwards and identified a bright blue wig and well-sculpted face.

“Thanks?” he squeaked, slightly intimidated.

“I looove little trans boys,” they said, punctuating it with a wide grin and a gentle pat to his cheek, “you keep being you, baby.” At which point some man came up from behind them, and the two started to make out sloppily. For a petrifying five seconds, Peter wondered if he wasn’t passing, and the press of his binder suddenly felt very tight, but then he remembered that he literally had his pride colors painted on his face.

“Sorry, did I miss something?” MJ yelled.

“I… have no idea,” Peter managed, rubbing at the spot where he’d been kissed and feeling simultaneously warmed and bewildered. While he was pretty sure that the person’s intentions had been good, it was the kind of encounter that triggered a bit of adrenaline. Suddenly, the already impressive noise level of the parade ratcheted up a few notches, and the occasional brush of another member of the crowd against him made him flinch. He tried to cheer with everyone else when the next float passed by, but he could’ve sworn his ears started ringing. Theedges of his vision blurred, and he was sure that he was swaying in place, so he grabbed on to MJ’s arm.

“Peter,” she was saying, “baby, are you okay?”

Part of Peter really wished he was in the right state of mind to fully appreciate how much he loved it when she called him that.

He just shook his head. No point in lying, and he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“C’mon,” she muttered, and took his hand, fearlessly carving a path through the crowd until it started to thin, at which point she ducked into the mouth of an alleyway. 

“Pete, come one, deep breaths, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Damn it,” he whispered, once the noise had receded sufficiently from his head.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Uh… super-senses, I guess. Someone bumped me, and I got startled, and…” he gestured to himself helplessly.

“That’s awful… dude, how do you, like, go to school?” She hissed.

“I don’t usually get jumped at school.”

“Yeah, except you sort of do. I don’t know how you do it, Parker.” She sighed and pulled him into a loose hug. Her scent was kind of grounding. “Remind me to buy you earplugs next time we do something like this.” 

“Okay,” he said into her shoulder. He was perfectly happy to stay there for a little while. It was like all the assaulting noises of the outside world had dulled to a low hum. “D’you wanna go back?” he asks her eventually. It couldn’t be more than half past two, and he felt guilty for making her leave. 

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the grand marshal, but it’s no big loss. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

She gave him a _look_.

“Alright, kinda shitty, but I’ll be fine, it’s no big deal—“

“Not a _word_ , Parker, we are not having that conversation again,” she admonished. He stared at his shoes, flustered. She always put him before herself. He just hoped that he might one day get to return that favor.

“Hey, wait a minute,” she said after a brief silence, “what about the suit?”

“The suit?”

“Yeah, doesn’t it block out extra sensory information so that you can focus?”

“I don’t remember telling you that,” he said suspiciously.

She just waved her hand. “If you still want to see the parade, maybe that could help.”

“I told you,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I don’t want him to come out. The press would go nuts.”

“They don’t have to know,” she countered with a devious smile. He followed her gaze, up the wall behind them, to the top of the building.

“Oh. _Oh._ ”

So after a quick and only slightly awkward alleyway change (he’d had worse), he had the suit on and was contemplating the logistics of getting them both comfortably up onto the rooftop without being seen. 

“Here,” he said, holding his arm out. 

She looked slightly skeptical. “Can you really carry me with one a—oof!”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she clung to his shoulders. Fortunately, it turned out he was capable of climbing a wall using only three limbs after all. Cool.

“That,” MJ said breathlessly when they arrived on the roof, “was stupidly hot. Warn me next time.”

“Sorry,” he replied automatically, glad that she couldn’t see him turning beetroot red under the mask. She just grabbed his hand and squeezed it, staring out at the vista.

They had a great view of the parade from above—really, it looked like something out of a painting. The whole scene was covered in a haze of smoke and glitter, and contained a literal rainbow of colors. 

A few minutes in, MJ huffed out a breath and dropped her head into Peter’s lap, grinning like a fool.

“What’re you looking at, huh?” he said, automatically running his fingers through her hair.

Slowly, she sat up and arranged herself facing him. With her smeared, melting makeup and wild hair, framed like a halo by the summer sun, he was pretty sure she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She picked at the bottom of his mask where it met the rest of the suit and peeled it up, just past his mouth, and kissed him long and hard. 

When they broke apart, she was still grinning. “Spiderman is wearing my blue lipstick.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man does a little more Spider-Manning after he and MJ leave the parade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for homphobic/transphobic language, details in end note

When the sun started to sink past four o’clock, and the parade had thinned, they decided that it was time to head home.

Coming down from the roof with MJ was way easier than going up-- Peter just webbed the edge of the building and lowered them down carefully. 

“Are you _sure_ there’s no one coming down the street?” MJ asked as he let go of the webbing. He took a second to consciously reach out with his super senses. Some distant footsteps registered, but not much else.

“Nope, we’re clear. Why, you don’t wanna be seen with the me?” Peter joked.

“I dunno,” MJ replied in kind, “wouldn’t mind being Spider-man’s unknown sexy accomplice,” at which Peter snorted. “Ah, that’s not tabloid enough. How about ‘Mystery Girl Spider-Man’s Secret Lover?’”

Peter quickly pulled his pants up over his suit and leaned over to kiss her. She was laughing.

“I didn’t know you worked for the National Enquirer,” he teased.

“Jesus, what are you, sixty? Try TMZ.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Hey, could I borrow your jean… shirt… thingy?” He asked. He’d be able to get away with wearing the suit under his clothes if he had some way to cover up the sleeves.

She grinned uncharacteristically and shrugged it off, handing it to him. It was worn and soft, and it smelled like her. She was kind of staring.

“What?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” she said, still grinning. “Anyway, I can’t believe that Tony Stark’s genius tech child thinks people still read the National Enquirer—“

Peter stopped listening, because an alarming scream started to push at the edge of his hearing. He started fumbling for his mask, pushing his pants back off, and then both shirts.

“Fuck’s sake, Peter, what is it?”

“Someone’s screaming. I gotta go—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She cut him off with a peck on the cheek, and then slapped his ass lightly. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

 

Michelle watched as Peter webbed off through the grungy streets, and quickly became aware that she was standing alone in an alleyway with a pile of clothes at her feet. She shoved Peter’s clothes into the backpack and hiked it up on her shoulders, scanning the street both ways and then following after the trails of discarded web. It wasn’t long before the noise that had piqued Peter’s super-senses reached her too, and she followed that into yet another alleyway ( _what is it with criminals and alleyways?_ She wondered. _Probably the low foot traffic, dim lighting, and relative privacy_ , another part of her brain responded. _God, shut up_ , said the first part.)

She peeked around a corner, spotting a flash of red and blue— _that’s my boy!_ —and a few other, darker figures. 

 

 

“Don’t make me do this the hard way,” Peter was saying. 

“All you little queer bitches are the same.” The attacker spat, making Peter flinch a little. He wasa wiry man had been bearing down on a smaller figure, who was currently curled up against a dumpster, hyperventilating. He drew himself up to his full height and tried to tower over Peter. It wasn’t working. 

“You asked,” Peter managed, and webbed the guy to the wall before he could so much as land a punch. He crouched down next to the victim, murmuring quietly and trying to telegraph his movements. 

“You fucking fags!” The webbed guy screamed. “You’re all going to burn in Hell! Faggots!”

Before he could get another word out, Peter heard the hiss of a spray can being deployed, and whipped his head around to see MJ in fighting stance at the mouth of the alleyway, a can of pepper spray in her hand. The attacker cried out in anguish, and started hacking horribly.

MJ seemed frozen in place, and her arms were shaking. How the hell had she found him, and how had he not noticed? 

“MJ!” He breathed in relief, before his concern overtook him. “What are you _doing_? You could've gotten hurt!” 

“Rich coming from you, mister vigilante crime fighter in a spandex suit,” she shot back, though without contempt.

“And this from you, Ms. self-proclaimed non-violent anarchist?” Peter huffed.

“Uh. ‘I don’t even call it violence when it’s self-defense. I call it intelligence.”

“ _Jeez_ ,” Peter moaned.

“Malcom X,” croaked the figure on the ground.

“Yeah,” MJ said, surprised, switching her focus. Peter quickly realized that he’d forgotten his main task, and turned back to them. “I’m so sorry, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m—fine. Thanks.” 

“I’m MJ,” MJ said, apropos of nothing. “He’s—uh, I guess you know who he is.”

They laughed shakily. “I’m Ha-Harper.” 

Harper took Peter’s hand and stood up. They were wearing an overlarge Gay is Here to Stay sweatshirt and an unfortunately soiled pair of rainbow fairy wings. Something about the haircut and the way they’d stumbled over their name gave Peter a hunch.

“Uh… pronouns?” He blurted. A hunch was a hunch, and he was pretty sure that someone in a pride sweater wouldn’t be too offended. Hopefully.

Sure enough, a small smile spread across Harpers’ face. “She,” she said. “She/her.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Harper,” Peter said, holding out his hand to be shaken. Harper took it.

A prolonged moan came from the man webbed to the wall behind them, and Peter shot another load of web onto his face without even looking, effectively shutting him up. “D’you wanna get coffee?” He asked.

“There’s a place on 24th I like,” MJ butted in. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She dug a tissues out of the backpack and offered it to Harper, who took it slowly and started to wipe off her face, blowing her nose.

“Hey, uh, I don’t wanna be rude, but… don’t you have better things to do? Than get coffee with me? Since you’re like, Spider-Man?”

Peter blushed underneath his suit. “Nope. I really don’t.”

So they walked down to 24th, and MJ led them up to a tiny coffee shop that was exactly as grungy and fair-trade as Peter had expected it to be. It was sort of expensive, but there were some options that weren’t an arm and a leg, thank God. Like a true New Yorker, the barista didn’t even blink at his outfit when he took their order.

They sat with their coffee in a quiet corner of the shop. Harper was clutching her coffeelooked… kinda nervous, if Peter was honest. He thought maybe she didn’t do this kind of thing that often, which made him ridiculously sad.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she said after a brief awkward silence. “It’s really good.”

“I make it my business to know the best coffee in all five boroughs,” MJ explained.

“I believe that,” Harper laughed a little, and then the silence descended again. “Were you… at pride?” 

Peter sort of instinctively opened his mouth to say _no_ or _we’re just allies,_ but MJ had her flags painted on her cheeks and there were buttons on his backpack. He didn’t miss the way Harper’s gaze lingered on the He/Him pronoun one.

MJ’s eyes slid from Peter to Harper. “We were,” she said quickly. “It was awesome. Were you?”

Harper nodded, sipping her coffee. “It was my first time.”

“No kidding,” Peter said, “us too. I mean, me.”

“I went to the one in Queens last year,” MJ jumped in, “fun, but not as big.”

Harper was still staring at her latte, but Peter was determined to do _something_ for her. He was banking incredibly hard on his intuition, and not the part that got augmented with his super powers. He realized in that moment that there was something he needed to do, for his own sake as much as it was for Harper’s.

“It’s… just so nice to see other trans people that are out and proud,” he stammered out in a rush. MJ froze next to him, and then subtly took his hand beneath the table, squeezing hard.

Harper’s eyes were the size of the moon, and possibly as bright.

“Wait—you’re—?” 

Peter smiled and undid the he/him pronoun button, pushing it across the table.

“That’s why your name’s Spider-M _an,_ isn’t it.”

Peter flushed. “Maybe.”

“Fucking pinch me, Spider-Man’s trans? This is the best day of my life.”

“Ah—yeah, I’m kinda not, out, though,” he whispered, glancing around a little bit. No one seemed to have heard.

“Oh. Alright. I get that.” She took a sip of coffee and sighed. “I haven’t told my parents. Some of my friends, they know, but other than that, well, it’s hard.”

“Are your parents…” MJ trailed off.

“Yeah.”

Peter had often considered what he might have gone through if May and Ben hadn’t been open to the idea of his transition before high school. Transitioning _while in_ high school sounded like an absolute hellscape—at least the way he’d done it, everyone he met in high school knew him and not “her” and he made friends and tried not to let “Penis Parker” bother him. Having to come out again and again and again to every single person he met at school would be a next-level horror.

They chatted for another few minutes—Harper went to school in the Bronx, she wanted to write a book someday, and no, that wasn’t her first time getting assaulted in a back alley on her way home. That made Peter want to punch someone more than usual. It occurred to him that he actually had punched someone, which frankly was only a small consolation. 

MJ got her number (Peter didn’t really want to hand his out, for which he apologized profusely, making Harper laugh and wave him off. “This is cool enough as it is, man, please,” she told him), and they promised to get coffee again sometime. She and MJ joked a little bit about the latest episode of Game of Thrones, which unfortunately went straight over Peter’s ridiculously busy head.

“Em,” Peter began quietly on the bus ride home, “Do you really think that Spider-Man could be, like, out?”

MJ’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. “I think you’d get some shit,” she said bluntly, “but yes. It’s who you are. Also, anyone transphobe who tries to fuck with Spider-Man is a dead bastard.”

Peter laughed a little giddily. “Not dead, though,” he corrected.

“Right,” MJ laughed, squeezing his hand. “Are you sure?”

“I think I’ll know when the opportunity shows up,” Peter ruminated. “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW deets: use f---t slur, brief threat of afterlife immolation, a guy attacks a trans girl, and is quickly webbed up by Our Hero, that's it. non-graphic.  
> \-------------------  
> if that felt like filler, it's probably because it was. i figured out that i'm actually gonna figure out how Spider-Man comes out to the world, and it just might involve iron dad. maybe. we'll see. hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter comes out, and other related pipe dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So look when I said pipe dreams I meant it. Full disclosure: writing this was like chicken soup for my tattered soul. Unrealistic? Definitely. But we get to have a fantasy here and there, don't we?   
> This is a long one...  
> Some violence, American cultural bullshit... full TW in the end notes.

As Peter had predicted, the right time did come, but of all the possibilities there were, he had not expected this one. It was more of a silver lining than anything else, but Peter liked to think that he made the best of things.

“What the fuck!?” MJ yelled all of the sudden, jerking Peter out of a post-pizza-lunch stupor. He blinked warily and realized that MJ—typical MJ—had turned on the news after the episode of Orange Is The New Black ended. There was a protest happening in what he recognized to be Brooklyn, with mostly black protesters being pressed at by police in riot gear. He saw “Not My President” signs and those pink cat-ear hats everyone had worn at the women’s march, and some rainbow flags. They were chanting _we're here! We're queer!_

“I gotta go,” he muttered, vaulting over the back of the couch and diving for his backpack, where his suit was safely stowed.

“Uh, Peter, you’re not gonna fight cops, are you?” MJ called.

“No. Just protect the innocents.” He replied, wiggling into the suit.

“Peter! C’mon, you don’t know what you’re doing here—“

And with that, he was out the window and webbing away as fast as he could. 

“Take me to Brownsville, Karen,” he said. 

“Sure thing. Calculating trajectory.”

_Ding_. Peter tensed. Was Mr. Stark calling him, now, of all times?

“Hello?”

“Hey, shithead. Nice going.”

“MJ?” He almost missed the next building in his surprise.

“Phew, it’s working,” he heard some muted tapping—a keyboard clicking—on the other end of the line. “Wasn’t sure Karen would let me through.”

“Karen…” Peter growled. The AI was silent. In his mind’s eye, she was shrugging smugly. He sighed. “What the hell is this about?”

“Guy in the chair, Parker.”

“That’s Ned!”

“Like fuck he is. You’re gonna want to avoid Broadway Junction, a helicopter just took off from the hospital.”

Peter grumbled and rerouted accordingly. He spotted the helicopter a few minutes later over his shoulder and had to admit that he was glad she’d told him.

“…also no way I was gonna not be involved in this one, you should know that by now, Petey, honestly, how long have we been friends?”

“I still wanna know how you got past Stark’s security systems.”

“Maybe I just asked nicely. You should try it sometime.”

Peter cursed. MJ and Mr. Stark had never met, but he had the worst feeling that they’d get along like a house on fire, and it wasn’t something he really wanted to consider in depth.

“Approaching protest on your left,” came Karen’s voice.

“Back from the void, I see,” Peter muttered, and plunged into the crowd at the first signs of violence. The mob was surging against the police barrier, and there were more than a few people getting crushed. He swung right and left, plucking people out of the crowd and setting them down a little farther away. A screaming kid got caught in the path of the shields, and he took a second out to pull her out and ask her if he could call her parents, which he did. He didn’t entirely have time to wait with her until they came, but he was planning on it… at least until she squared her shoulders, sniffled, and looked him in the eye, saying “Mr. Spider-Man, if you don’t go back out there, I’m gonna punch you right in the face.” She almost certainly meant it. 

“Leave her with the drone,” came MJ’s soft voice in his mask. She was never that quiet, so he listened. He pressed the button on his chest and the little bug drone whizzed to life, landing on the girl's inquisitively outstretched hand. Leaving her staring in awe at the little machine, he headed back to the mass of the protest. Just a few minutes later, he found himself between the police line and the protesters’ lines, with billy clubs facing him from one end and fists and stones on the other.

“Pigs!” Someone screamed, and the police surged forwards in response, but Peter dove between them, stretching his arms out.

“Don’t make this worse than it is!” He bit out, suddenly realizing exactly what he was doing and feeling a rush of fear overtake him. He lowered his arms, palms facing out, in a gesture of peace. “ _They_ have the right to protest,” he panted to the cops, and then turned his face to the protesters. “And _they_ don’t have the right to hurt you.”

“Mister, we are obligated to prevent the disturbance of the peace by law.” Snapped one of the officers. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but bear in mind that you are interfering with police business.”

“Wow, such niceties. It’s almost like they can tell you’re white _through the mask_ ,” came MJ’s bitter voice in his ear. 

Peter swallowed a growl, because, of course, she was right. He’d just have to use it to his advantage.

“Officer,” he said, in his best extended family country club trip voice, “these folks haven’t done anything but get angry. Happens to the best of us.”

“What the fuck are you doing, white boy?” Came a voice from behind him. He whipped around, and zeroed in on a short lady with combat boots and a Silence=Death t-shirt. 

“My job,” he heard himself say. MJ whooped faintly in the distance.

“His job _, my ass_ ,” said her neighbor, a tall guy with a Colombia hoodie covered in Black Power buttons, eyeing Peter up and down. “We all know you’re just some rich kid from Manhattan with a savior complex.”

“Queens,” Peter corrected, “and I’m definitely not rich.”

“Whatever you say, kid,” spat Combat Boots. “Get outta here. We don’t have time for your little guilt trip.”

He saw the bags under her eyes, the deep worry lines on her forehead, the way she stood with her shoulders a little hunched, defensive.

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” he said, his voice carrying. He realized that the yelling had stopped. He turned back to the police, whose resolve seemed to have sagged a little bit. “No one is getting hurt on my watch. Please, carry on, do your thing. I’m just gonna stand right here.” He crossed his arms for dramatic effect, and planted his feet.

 

“Chief…” one of them said, in a low tone that Peter only just picked up. 

“Shields down,” barked the tall woman at the point of the line. “There’s a robbery down on 47th. They need backup.”

And just like that, to his utter amazement, the police mostly disbanded. A few remained, off to the sides, but most of the riot gear was gone. 

“That’s my boy,” MJ piped up. “I’m _so_ gonna buy you a beer.”

“Shut it, Em,” he murmured, still reeling. He glancedback at the protesters, and then over his shoulder at the protesters. Combat Boots was staring right back with raised eyebrows and crossed arms. The crowd seemed to have thinned a little, or maybe they just weren’t pressed together as badly. 

“Nice going, white boy,” said Combat Boots. Maybe he was indulging himself, but she seemed at least a little impressed.

“You have a permit, ma’am?” He asked.

She nodded, still glaring. “Supposedly.”

“Alrighty then. I think—“ he turned pointedly to the closest cop, who looked relieved, “—you won’t have any more trouble. Let me know if you do.” 

Without thinking, he put out his hand, and she shook it, strongly enough to bruise. 

“You’ve really stuck your neck out here, Spidey,” she warned. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

“My job is to protect the citizens of New York, ma’am. This is nothing new.”

She nodded, and he saluted before he turned around to talk to the closest remaning cop, who was shifting from foot to foot towards the edge of the street. His name tag said Mendez.. 

“Listen, Spider-man,” Mendez sighed, “I owe you one, again, but I’m not sure you’ll be able to stay out of the shit on this one.”

Peter squinted, and realized that he recognized the guy’s face. He’d been on call the last time Peter broke up a fistfight in Queens.

“Color me surprised,” he said dryly. “I knew what I was getting into.”

“I respect that,” Mendez said. “For what it’s worth though, I don’t think there’s a whole lot of folks on my side that blame you. We all owe you something or other.”

Peter smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’d better head out soon, kid, I think the big guns might be looking for a chat,” he said with a grim smile and a tap on his earpiece. Peter gulped, and nodded.

“Thanks, officer,” he called, as he webbed away. His arms started to throb, and he realized he’d been doing a hell of a lot of swinging and carrying. Karen and MJ seemed to realize this, and left him in relative peace as he made his way home. 

He tumbled onto his fire escape a small eternity later, where MJ was waiting with the window open. Her gaze had more fire in it than usual, and she pulled him inside bodily, rolling the mask up and catching his mouth in a fierce kiss. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Parker,” she panted when they broke apart, “do you have any idea how much I love you?” 

Her words took a few minutes to catch up with him, and he realized that he was standing stock still and staring, his face still mostly obscured by the mask. He leaned in apologetically and kissed her again.

“I love you too, darling.” 

She snorted. “ _Darling_? I’m not Scarlett O’hara, you little shit.” 

And they were kissing again. 

The lights stayed on pretty late in his bedroom that night.

 

The next day, though, he started to feel the fallout. Mr. Stark called at about six am, which was way too early for either of them, and chewed Peter out like a worried parent.

“I’m not gonna say it again, Parker, you absolutely _cannot_ get into trouble with the police!” He yelled. Something clunked in the background— Peter guessed a glass of scotch on his workbench. Scotch at six am? Christ, things must be worse than he thought.

“Mr. Stark, I can’t just stand by while stuff like that happens.” He argued.

“Nuh-uh. Nein. No way. No can do. You need to come to the tower this afternoon to do a press conference. I don’t think the police are planning on actually arresting you, but if you put a single fucking toe across the line from here on out, we are in deep shit.”

“Hold up, a press conference?” 

“Don’t think you can waltz out on me a second time, punk.”

“A second—wait, _what?_ ” 

“Never mind that. Happy will pick you up at nine sharp.”

The line went dead.

Peter dropped the phone on his dresser and turned to MJ, who was still blissfully asleep under the covers. He sat down beside her, and she stirred as the bed shifted, stretching her arms up over her head.

“The fuck time is it?” she mumbled.

“Too early. Go back to sleep.”

“N—what are you doing up?” She punctuated the question with a yawn.

Peter sighed. “Mr. Stark is making me do a press conference in a few hours. Because of yesterday.”

“WHAT?” Suddenly, she was very much awake. “Pete… he can’t do that.”

“I’ll be in the suit,” he tried, and realized that he hadn’t even gotten a confirmation on that. No way… Mr. Stark wouldn’t make him reveal his identity, would he? He resolved to wear the mask regardless of whatever Mr. Stark told him.

“It’s BS, but I have to. Besides, maybe I could clear some people up about whose side I was on.”

That made her smirk. “I guess I can get behind that.” But the smile faded quickly. “You’ve got to be careful.”

He nodded, and they lapsed into silence. 

“This is not how I imagined this morning going,” he said eventually.

She grinned. “Aw, Spidey… what made you think any of this would be normal?”

“You have a point.” He admitted, and leaned in to kiss her. They had a couple hours anyway, why waste them?

“How about we take a shower?” She murmured into his ear.

“We, hmm?” he echoed. “I can get behind that.”

A… shall we say  _spirited_ hour later, they sat down for eggs and instant coffee. Peter never thought he’d have quite this much fun being up at the asscrack of dawn.

At about 8:45, he got a text from Mr. Stark that just said “wear something nice.” He showed it to MJ, who raised her eyebrows. 

“Do you... own anything nice?” She said with a quirky her eyebrow.

Peter gasped in mock offense. “Of course I do.” He go up and rummaged through his closet, extracting a checkered shirt and khaki slacks.

At that, both of MJ’s eyebrows went up. “Khakis? Are you fucking kidding me? Not on my life.”

She pulled his bureau drawers open and started rifling through it indiscriminately. Eventuallly, she procured a pair of nice jeans and a plain blue button-down. “Don’t you have a sport coat or something?”

He did. The last time he’d worn it was actually at… Ben’s funeral. Fuck. He was not going to think about that. Not when he had this press conference to do and MJ was looking at him with that leftover heat in her eyes.

“I do,” he said simply, and pulled it out of the back of his closet. Good thing he hadn’t grown much in the last two years. Turned out he just filled it out better now, what with all his new muscle mass.

It was a little itchy, but MJ assured him that he looked great, and made sure he had the mask folded up in his pocket. With a peck on his cheek and quick hair ruffle, she ushered him out the door at 8:58. True to Mr. Stark’s word, Happy arrived at 9. The silence was unusually thick between them on the two hour ride to the Avengers facility, which was saying something. When Peter tried to ask about the conference, Happy just shook his head and turned up the disco that was trickling from the radio. Peter hadn’t realized that bad 70s pop could be so somber. He shoved his mask on as they pulled up to the facility.

Stark greeted them at the door, along with a few other burly security guys. He, too, was utterly silent, and to be honest, it was starting to freak Peter out. The last person to join their unhappy cohort was Pepper Potts, who was the kind of person that just made Peter stand up taller as soon as she walked in. She took a long, scrutinizing look at him, and gave a curt nod. “Formal but in character. We’ll take it.” 

Mr. Stark cleared his throat as they reached a door that Peter recognized, because it was the same one he’d stood in front of after the debacle at the end of his sophomore year. This time though, it didn’t inspire any awe. 

“Kid…” Mr. Stark stared, “Keep it Gucci, alright?”

Peter almost choked. “What?”

Mr. Stark massaged his temples. “Fuck it, never mind. Don’t mess up.” He then pushed Peter towards the door, which Ms. Potts promptly opened. Peter took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked inside.

Immediately, he was glad he had the mask on, because there were cameras and screaming reporters everywhere. He wandered onto the long table that had microphones on it, and identified the place with his name. He sat, barely registering Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts doing the same beside him.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Mr. Stark barked into his mic, and the clamor settled into a dull roar. “As you have probably guessed, we have a statement to make in response to yesterday’s events in Brownsville, and then you’ll have free reign.”

Ms. Potts proceeded to read a short, bland paragraph about how the Avengers were arbiters of the law and worked with the police frequently, blah blah blah, ad nauseam. As soon as she was done, the reporters exploded into a frenzy of questions, at which point Mr. Stark surveyed them wearily and picked one at random. “You there with the bad haircut— yes, you.”

“Harry Osborn, Daily Bugle. Spider-Man, what were your motivations for accosting the police force at yesterday’s riot?”

Peter glanced at Mr. Stark, who gave him an impatient little nod.

“Uh… first of all, it was not a riot, and I didn't accost the police. I just wanted to keep people from getting hurt.”

Pandemonium. “Then why were you reported to have interacted with the violent protesters during the standoff?” Osborn shouted over the noise.

“No follow-ups,” Mr. Stark yelled. “How about, ah—dark hair. With the glasses.”

A tall, skinny woman with horn-rimmed glasses stood up and straightened her pencil skirt. “Miranda Harold, the Telegraph. How would you describe your interaction with the protesters and the police, respectively?”

Peter thought a little harder about this one. “I’m just happy that the po—that they were willing to listen and back down,” he said, rushing to cover up what almost slipped out. He’d be no good to anyone if he had to go on the lam. Captain America had proven that.

“Short. Bald. In the second row. Come on folks, lets keep this moving.”

An older looking guy with a notebook got to his feet. “Tom Nguyen, Mayfield Gazette. Ah, Spider-man, as it were, what exactly is your investment in these protests?”

“I… like I said, sir, I just want to keep people safe.” With that, he glanced at Mr. Stark, whose eyebrows lifted a fraction.

“Young man, we all know that you are a Queens-based operative, correct?”

“No follow—“ Mr. Stark started to butt in, but Peter shook his head and pressed on. “I am, Mr. Nguyen, but I also have the same access to the news as any other New Yorker, and I’m not the kind of guy to stand by when I see danger to people in my city.”

This sent a ripple of murmuring through the reporters.

“Yes?” Tony said tiredly, pointing to a round lady with her pencil behind her ear.

“Marsha Cox, Out and Proud,” she said, and within seconds Peter knew who he was talking to, partly the same way that he’d known with Harper, but mostly because he knew her name and her story by heart. He swallowed, glanced at Mr. Stark. His eyebrows were reaching critical levels. “You’ve been a public figure for almost a year, so why did this protest particularly catch your eye?”

This was it, he realized. His chance. Marsha Cox herself was standing in front of him, pencil in hand, daring him not to be a coward. And damn it, he wasn’t going to let her down. He would deal with the backlash like he always had, with a steady gaze and a level head.

“I am a trans man,” he said, feeling a rush of, well, _everything_ overcome him. “A trans man.” he repeated. You could have heard a pin drop in the room. He cleared his throat. “I’m a trans man, and let’s just say that I have a whole hell of a lot of sympathy for what those ‘rioters’ were going through. New York is a place of incredible diversity, and I dunno about you, but I want to keep it that way.”

The silence rang for a few more seconds, and then Marsha Cox dropped her notepad and started clapping. To Peter’s amazement, a fair number of her colleagues joined her in a standing ovation. Harry Osborn didn’t, and neither did Tom Nguyen, but Peter started shaking with the overwhelming awesomeness of it all.

Mr. Stark took that as his cue to wrap things up and pull Peter to his feet, away from the table, out the door. As soon as the door closed and the noise vanished, he wrapped his arms around Peter and hugged him tightly. Right when it started to get awkward, Mr. Stark pulled away and gripped Peter by the shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“I… uh… thought you were mad,” Peter stammered.

Mr. Stark sighed. “More worried than mad, kid. I mean, hell, what are you, thirteen?”

“Sixteen,” Peter muttered.

“Anyways.” Mr. Stark seemed at a rare loss for words. “ _Happy_ has the car waiting out front.” Ms. Potts had long since disappeared, but Happy was still hanging a few feet back, waiting expectantly. 

“Oh, you want me to—“ Happy gestured to the door.

“If you would,” Mr. Stark said through gritted teeth.

“Sure thing.” Happy waved and exited at a leisurely pace. As soon as the door clicked shut, Mr. Stark turned his attention fully back to Peter. 

He took a deep breath. “Listen, kid… just know, you’re braver than I am.”

Peter met Mr. Stark’s eyes and stared. There were tears glinting there. _Fuck._

“You— can’t be… you’re—?”

“Not a word,” Mr. Stark said gruffly as he removed his hands, giving Peter’s shoulder one solid clap. “You come to me if you need anything, understand? Surgery, injections, vests, anything.”

“Mr. Stark, I—“

“It’s Tony,” _Tony_ cut him off. “And I mean it.” 

Peter continued to stare.

“I believe, if I’m not mistaken, you have an ecstatic girlfriend to get home to? You should get going.”

“What? How did you know—“

“Nice seeing ya, kid,” Tony called with a wave as he towards the door that led to the complex.

“Yeah,” Peter murmured, shaking himself out of his reverie and stumbling outside, into the car.

 

Tony was right, he did have an ecstatic girlfriend waiting for him. He collapsed on the couch as soon as he got home, the mask shoved unceremoniously in his pocket, and was promptly attacked by a flurry of kisses. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” MJ said intensely, placing a fat wet smooch on his forehead.

“I take it you saw it,” he managed.

“It was on CNN,” she exclaimed, “I think the whole world did.”

“Oh godddd..” Peter moaned, burying his head in a pillow.

“Listen, champ, it’s gonna be fine,” MJ consoled him, rubbing his neck gently. “I’m so, _so_ proud of you. God damn it.”

So, yeah, in Peter’s book, that was one hell of a silver lining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: police brutality (not gorey but it's the concept), discussions of political shit. Also a wide range of profanity. Racial themes? He jumps between protesters and the cops, and talks them down. No slurs or anything. Again, it's the concept of it all that I think would be the biggest tw. let me know if this needs editin
> 
> So! Thanks for reading that. Please leave comments and *constructive* criticism below. I know this is a charged topic, so keep it civil, folks. Haven't had a problem yet but I think if it's gonna happen this is the chapter where it's gonna happen.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! this was loosely based off my own first pride experience, and honestly, I just wanted to see Peter get to embrace himself at least just for one day before he goes back to the closet. Bless him.


End file.
